


A Cave Beside the Sea

by revampired



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (But in the good way), Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Crying, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Dubious Consentacles, Face-Fucking, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Squid Demon Yuuri Katsuki, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-10 16:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revampired/pseuds/revampired
Summary: Victor - in particular, Victor's body - is chosen as an offering to the village God.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hahahaha hi. I've had this idea basically since whichever event where Yuuri turns into a squid demon, then I saw an interesting KM prompt and made some modifications to it. God I love tentacles so much, I can't believe they're canon in YOI. 
> 
> I don't have time to make this into a big multichaptered thing, but hopefully you enjoy these two chapters! The next one will go up probably next weekend, maybe the weekend after. We'll see!
> 
> I will give one quick warning about the content - there are going to be some dark elements that I really don't wanna spoil (hopefully you can pick up some hints about them as you go so you're not shocked haha), but throughout the fic there will be NO character death, NO rape/non-con, and NO graphic violence. I'm setting this up to be more or less a sweet n smutty Victuuri fic... With tentacles and a little bit of other baggage. 
> 
> Enjoy and don't @ me..... but please comment if you liked it

The village elders see him off, a cluster of them standing at the edge of the cliff eyeing, taking in the traditional white slip over his skinny shoulders. Excitement crackles like lightning around him - it has been more than sixty years since the great god of the ocean has called for someone to be brought to him. 

Even Yakov is there, short and fat and grimacing, eyes everywhere but on Victor as he slips off the dark, gleaming fur coat and smooths out the edges of the silken slip. 

“You look beautiful,” the town elder tells him, running a finger along the ceremonial ribbons braided into his flowing silver hair, blue and shimmering in the moonlight. “A perfect sacrifice to our god.” 

Victor blushes, soft and pink like the stain they applied to his lips.

Yakov winces and Victor’s throat thickens with sadness, disappointment. He turns to him, remembering he’s not allowed to speak to anyone now, save the god - but he hopes he can communicate to Yakov all he’s feeling.

Yakov’s face contorts with grief, and he took a step forward, out of the mystical v-shape the elders had formed - only to be blocked by the chief with a firm and outstretched arm.

“Don’t break ranks, Yakov,” Elder Evgeni hisses.

“Good luck, Vitya,” Yakov whispers, hands twitching like he aches to pull his young ward into his arms one last time.

Victor nods, stilted, nervous.

Elder Vasily beams, wise and calming. “A fitting goodbye to our sacrifice. We leave you now, young Victor. Do our village proud.”

With that, they begin to hum, a chant Victor has heard so many times around the village harvest. A prayer for pleased gods above.

When Victor was little, he’d been afraid of the word  _ sacrifice _ . He’d pictured warring clans, ripping out their enemies hearts and offering them to their own gods, pictured blood and gore and smoke.

Elder Vasily had taken his little hand, though, and washed away his fears. Sacrifices to  _ their _ god were kind, the young chosen one wrapped in his embrace and whisked away to a realm under the waves, fed sweet sea-fruits on a bed of kelp for the rest of their days. 

And now, here he is, pale skin almost ghostly white in the cold moonlight as he eyes the treacherous path down to the sacrificial caves. It’s cold, a crisp, sharp fall evening and the slip is thin - bearing hints of his beautiful body beneath it, the darker swell of his nipples and curl of hair between his legs. 

One by one, the elders turn, until only Elder Vasily remains. His eyes glint, almost predatory in the shadows of the slowly encroaching blood moon, and he disappears into the rising cotton of fog.

Victor steps forward, wincing a little at the sharp rocks poking into his bare feet. The sea spray whips little tendrils from his carefully braided hair, and he bites his lip as he tries in vain to smooth them down.

It’s all so familiar - the salty sea breeze, the biting cold whipping around his legs. A low whistle of wind along the rocks, crashing of waves along the shoreline. How many times has he wandered these long, winding paths, scrambling over stone with his hair pulled back? Wading in swirling tide pools in the summer, little crabs and fishes tickling his fingers as they scuttle past - dipping his toes into the freezing swell on a dare in winter, air so sharp it cut.

Victor imagines the kingdom beneath the sea with wonder, pictures himself shrunken down to live in the tidepools, seaweed wrapping around his legs as he swims, gripping onto a lump on a crab’s shell and riding it while the sun carves patches of shimmery light onto the rocks around him.

How will he breathe?

The thought comes unbidden as he steps on a particularly sharp rock and draws a dark bead of blood. He frowns, picking the rock out from between his toes and tossing it away. Surely, their god has thought of something like that already.

As his hand grips the stone face of the cliff, the only support he had along the path, he can’t help but grouse about how difficult it is for him, as a sacrifice, to make it to his sacrificial altar. 

_ “You don’t want to do this, Victor.” _

Victor’s heart lurches, painfully. Of all times, why has his friend and mentor chosen  _ now _ to argue with him? His only regret in this world, he thinks, is that he wouldn’t be leaving it on good terms with Yakov. 

_ “Tell them you aren’t fit for this. This… Sacrifice nonsense, it’s idiotic. I’ll see if there’s nothing I can do to stop this.” _

_ “Yakov, why? Why can’t you just be happy for me? I’ve been chosen, I finally know my place in the village-”  _

It's too painful to think of on what is supposed to be a special night, even with Yakov’s well-wishes at the end. Victor swallows, blinking carefully to avoid messing up his carefully painted face, smearing the dark streaked kohl around his eyes and on his lashes. 

_ “Yakov, please. I’m never… Never going to see you again.” _

The cave is less impressive than Victor had imagined. The only indication that this is the right place, and not one of the other gaping caverns carved into the cliff wall, are the runes inscribed around it, slashes sliced into the cliff face long ago by ancient ancestors in a strange, primitive tongue that only the elders can read, now. They seem to glow blue in the moonlight, lighting up the entrance, illuminating a bare, cold inside.

There is no one there.

Victor thinks a few things, then. He thinks about, and wills away, the pain in his feet. That had not been an easy scramble, and his soles bear fresh, shallow cuts, bleeding almost black in the eerie blue light. 

He wonders if the god would bring a blanket, or a pillow, or something softer than unyielding rock for his sacrificial deflowering. 

The elders had never outright admitted he’d be giving his body to the god, but his thin (now soaked, showing the curves of his ass and his naked cock even more clearly) shift and the fact that during his preparation for the night the attendant who’d helped him bathe had summarily flipped him over, spread his ass cheeks apart, and scrubbed hard at his entrance and between his legs had been pretty significant clues.

Victor hadn’t expected the latter point, and had thought for a horrifying moment that the attendant was coming onto him, or worse that someone had put the attendant up to violating him so he wouldn’t be a worthy sacrifice - but the attendant had stopped and explained what he was doing, apologizing profusely for the confusion. 

Finally, though, Victor worries. In all of the village’s written records, dating back hundreds of years, there has only been one instance of a sacrifice being rejected - yet, the fear nags at him. 

If it could happen once, it could happen again.

_ “Listen to me, idiot boy, this isn’t what you think-” _

“Good evening, pet.” 

Victor gasps and whirls around, wincing as the sudden movement hurts his feet. Lost in thought, he hadn’t realized how the moonlight had changed, how a blood red shadow seems to fill the cave with eerie, rusty light. 

There’s a figure there, the eerie red moonlight illuminating his pale neck, his naked back. His face is obscured in shadow, save for a pair of luminously, supernaturally blue eyes. They aren’t like Victor’s eyes, and he shudders at the sight of them, piercing and cold. 

“I,” Victor stammers, every obeisance, every appeasement he’s dreamt of since being chosen disappearing from the tip of his tongue. “I, oh-”

“Shh,” the figure hushes him. Something slithers out from the dark and presses to his lips, stealing the thoughts from his head. “Shh. Be silent now, for your god.”

Victor nods, obediently, eyes starry and wide. 

The god steps into a patch of moonlight and Victor sees him for the first time. He looks… Young? Victor frowns. He looks, physically, to be around the same age as Victor. His skin is as ghostly pale as Victor’s as well, though it seems to be slightly blue tinged, or maybe that’s a trick of the light. His hair is black as the volcanic rock surrounding them, his blue eyes shining like a cat’s in the darkness.

He is naked, and Victor can’t help but peer down between his legs - he pouts in disappointment when the shadows obscures the delicious thing he assumes will be taking him. 

The god chuckles, low and predatory. As he comes closer, Victor feels the strangest urge to take a step back, but he wills it away as a prickle of anticipation ran down his spine. 

The moon is bright red, now, like Mila’s hair. Victor stares down at himself, body lit up like he’s standing before a bonfire.

The god grabs his shoulders and Victor gasps, surprised - and suddenly he is swallowed by blue. It's hypnotic, as though there is nothing else in the world but the eyes of his god. He goes rigid, mouth open, and the god rubs gentle circles into his tense shoulders until he relaxes them. 

Victor takes a deep, shuddering breath, the red of the moon and the ghost-pale of the god’s skin gone as he stares into his eyes.

The god runs his hand down Victor’s soaked slip until he settles on a pectoral muscle, his nipple erect in the cold air and nestled between his fingers. The god squeezes, slightly, pulls his hand back so the pad of his thumb can press Victor’s nipple back, then rub it in slow, gentle circles. His cock twitches, and he gasps, softly.

Victor barely registers the tear of fabric as the god rips off his slip. It's only the slow, shivering cold that creeps up on him that makes him even realize it's gone. His lips are so close to the god’s, and he leans forward, angling his head up slightly-

The god pulls back. Victor whines, impatiently, and starts forward - only to find his arms bound by what felt like thick cords of rope. Except… 

Except, these cords are cold and slick, sticking to him with a strange suction. When had the god tied him up? When had-

Something presses against his lips, cold and wet and sweetly perfumed. Victor hesitates for a moment, but the god runs his fingers through the ribbons in Victor’s silver hair, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the slippery appendage slide inside. It tastes… Strange. It's wet, and Victor’s tongue traces the small suctions like those on squid tentacles, though they don’t stick to his cheeks or teeth or tongue.

The appendage oozes something thick and cold and sweet. It dribbles down his chin, drips onto his chest, and everywhere it touches tingles, warm and tantalizing. 

“Swallow,” the god commands.

Victor swallows. It's like rose-flavored syrup, thick down his throat, and Victor’s body  _ burns _ . Suddenly, the aches and pains in his feet from the climb down are gone. The syrup pools in his stomach, filling it with sweet warmth, and Victor’s fingers run over the taut skin there. It tingles from inside of him, hot and hazy and delicious. 

The god pulls back, leaving the appendage in Victor’s mouth, and Victor whimpers at how far away the god is, though he continues to swallow the syrup greedily. 

His eyes manage to pull away from the god’s for a moment, and suddenly the cave comes clear into focus. it's blood red from the light of the moon, and Victor sees the god’s skin - a deeper, velvety blue than it had been when he’d arrived in the cave. 

His eyes widen almost comically, and he gasps around the appendage, as he sees behind the god a mass of writhing, wriggling tentacles - dozens, squirming and slick and thickening as they emerge from the god’s back. it's as though they’re bursting from the god’s very skin.

Victor isn’t afraid, though, not when he is full of sweet syrup that fills with him with a deep, pulsing desire, spreading out to the very tips of his trembling fingers. Not when the god’s cock is thick, hardening, flushed and lovely. Victor moans around the tentacle in his mouth, salivating, that and more syrup dripping onto his chest. 

He can barely move his arms, but he reaches back to grip the firm muscles of his ass, pressing his dry fingers to his entrance and trying to wriggle them inside. When that proves too difficult, he spread his cheeks and tries to turn himself around to present himself for the god, whimpering when the tentacles hold him in place. 

“Not yet,” hisses the god, voice strange. Crackling.

Victor whimpers. The tentacle in his mouth begins to thrust, slow at first, pressing against his soft palate and then pushing even further back. The syrup has apparently numbed his gag reflex completely, because Victor feels the tentacle slither to press against the back of his throat easily, and he closes his eyes in bliss as his throat expands and contracts with the tentacle’s thrusts.

Two more tentacles reach out, these two tapered to fine, slender tendrils, oozing the syrup onto his nipples. Victor moans, want pooling in his gut. The tentacle in his throat seems to vibrate as he moans, and the vibrations shudders all the way through him.

The tendrils wrap around his nipples, squeezing and pulling gently, all the while oozing onto his pink areola. Victor glances down and gasps as his nipples swell slightly, become tender and amazingly sensitive to the touch. The tendrils wrap around them and began to slide up and down, sending shooting spikes of pleasure right to his cock. 

Victor gasps and cries out, the sound muffled by the tentacles, legs shaking desperately as his cock begins to swell between his legs. Nothing has so much as rubbed against his lower body and he still feels he could come just from the tentacle roughly fucking his throat, the tendrils stroking his swollen nipples. 

The god stands there, statue still, hard and breathing heavily. There is something different about his eyes, it's almost as though they’ve changed color to a darker blue - no, they almost seem brown, now? Is that just the strange red moonlight? Is it-

His eyes flash the same bright, supernatural blue, and three more tentacles surge forward, the same rope-width as the one in his mouth. Two wrap around his trembling thighs and, with awesome might, lift Victor into the air. Victor yelps in surprise as his feet leave the cold stone, but all surprise washes away when the third tentacle wraps around his hard cock. 

Victor comes. He wails as thick spurts of come paint the rock in front of him, the tentacle oozing the syrupy liquid onto him, coming and coming even though the tentacle barely moves. 

The god laughs, and Victor flushes down to his toes. 

The tentacle in his mouth pulls out, and a slight twinge of pain pricks at his feet. Another tentacle is right behind it, though, thick with a pulsating vein running purple down the side of it and little suction cups twitching with promise. Victor has to open his mouth wide to accommodate it, and his lips stretch around the thick appendage, which pushes back into his throat much like the first. 

Oh, it is so big, so big! Victor can  _ feel _ the bulge in his throat as it fucks him, salivates over the fullness both there and in his stomach as he swallows down more of the liquid.

_ Please _ , he pleads internally, though it only comes out as a muffled wail,  _ Please, please, fuck me. Use my ass like you’re using my throat. _

The tentacles stiffen, rigid, the god’s eyes brown again, then blue, then brown, then blue-

Victor squeals as the tentacles spread his legs far apart, stretching him so his ass is exposed and the muscles of his inner thighs are taut and tense. The tentacle around his soft cock moves slightly, nudging against his foreskin and pulling it back to expose his head.

Another tentacle seems to sprout from the god’s back, splitting the air and zooming forward to prod between Victor’s cheeks.

_ Yes _ , he almost sobs,  _ yes, yes. _

The tendrils around his nipples pull away, leaving him shivering and swollen and thrusting his chest into the air to regain the stimulation - and spread his cheeks wide, presenting his hole, pink and twitching and wanting, for the god to use as he wishes. 

Victor can no longer see the god’s hard cock, but he aches for it, wants it with every cell of his trembling body. Instead, he feels the familiar slick chill of a tentacle pressing against his hole, and he forces the coils of anticipation in his body to relax to allow it inside. It squirms past the first ring of muscle, slick and lubricated with the same rose-scented syrup as the rest of them.

Victor stretches, just a little, barely breathing as the tentacle pushes even further in, past the second ring of muscle, deep inside his body. He wriggles, panting, wanting more-

The tentacle thrusts, brushing against Victor’s prostate. Victor moans, shuddering full-bodied at the slick appendage inside him, seeping aphrodisiac into his passage. There have been many nights, Victor’s hands slicked up with oil, fingering himself vigorously under the soft blanket of night. There’s been sex, lots of it.

He’s never gotten this deep inside, though, never felt the curl of something rubbing against his prostate and going  _ deeper _ . 

Victor’s throat stretches again as the tentacle in it slides further back, another wave of sweet syrup sliding down without Victor tasting it. 

The tentacle in Victor’s ass thrusts roughly, coaxing him back to hardness. His limbs flop in time with the thrusts, still suspended in the air. The bloody shadows on the cave’s back wall show the black outline of a dozen writhing tentacles, the god so terribly far away.

Victor cries out as he comes as second time, all over his tingling chest, and the tentacles fucks him harder, harder, milking his prostate and spreading the hot syrup all over his tender insides. As the tentacle thrusts, it seems - could it - Victor could swear that it  _ comes _ , spilling something hot and thick into him. He moans, body so, so hot, little whines of disappointment pouring out of him as the liquid dribbles out of him and down his thighs.

Then, Victor lets out a  _ wail _ as the tentacle inside him - once rope thin and gentle - quadruples in size. He nearly chokes, mouth falling open and saliva dripping onto the floor, at the intense stretch. At his thighs, pulling against the sockets of his hips, his ass clenching and unclenching around the thick tentacle - plugging him, keeping the roiling liquid inside. 

Victor sees the floor coming closer without recognizing that the tentacles have dropped him onto the stone, but the fall doesn’t hurt. His full belly sloshes pleasantly, and he runs his thumb across it, stretched like he’s eaten a filling meal. Only the plug in his ass and the tentacle in his mouth remain - Victor swallows greedily, his body writhing in pleasure. 

Why hasn’t the god touched him, really touched him? Victor crawls forward, hand reaching out for the god’s cock-

The plug inside him thrusts up, and Victor shrieks, syrup and saliva spilling over his chin. His hands fly back to his stomach, brush against his cock, hard again with the aphrodisiac filling him entirely. Pleasure spikes through him, and he bows forward, ass in the air, wriggling his hips so the god can see the smooth expanse of his skin, the obedient bow of his body, slick and burning and aching to be filled. 

It’s nothing like Victor has felt before. He thinks he might go crazy.

The plug pulls out with a wet  _ pop _ , his hole swollen and trembling and twitching at the loss of contact - the come-like liquid spills down the back of his thighs, leaving burning hot trails on his skin. His passage twitches and contracts, come dribbling out intermittently, and when Victor runs his finger around the rim of his ass an intense wave of pleasure washes over him.

Victor gasps, lets out little mewling cries, hardening again as his fingers flutter over his hole. 

“More,” Victor mumbles around a mouthful of thick, squirming appendage, but it’s muffled, incoherent. He wails, and whines, thrashing around as his insides warm with want. He thrusts his fingers inside him, desperately, begging for more with his body, mind, and soul.

The tentacles push him back so his head is on the ground, his back up against the cold stone wall and his knees flopping bonelessly by his head. His hands and feet are bound to the floor, his ass up and cock exposed between his legs. 

None of his stretches have been this deep, Victor’s cock dangling, hard and aching mere inches from his face. He stares at the god in wonder, beseechingly, desperate tears filling his eyes. 

A thick tentacle squirms from between the god’s legs, thick and pulsing - nearly as wide as his forearm. Victor wants it, he wants to be so full of the god’s come, swollen and happy and sated-

Up close, Victor can see that this tentacle is different. It’s got little, hairlike follicles on the end, waving like seaweed in the cold night air. Victor whimpers in pure, unbridled desire. His hole twitches in anticipation, slick dripping down his thighs from being fucked before.

The tentacle rubs against his perineum, presses against his balls and slides  _ back,  _ up and down the space between his cheek, causing little jolting sparks of pleasure every time it brushes against his hole. Suddenly, intensely, it presses against him - 

Victor wails, tight and taut and tense, as the little waving tendrils on the tip press against his hypersensitive skin - and then it’s fucking him, stretching him so unbelievably wide. He hears the squelching sound, his passage tender and tingling and slick with the tentacle’s syrupy come. He’s so slick, slick like a woman, dripping down his legs from the bright red rim of his asshole.

Every touch is like fire, his body overstimulated and hyper-sensitive to every touch, to the tentacle still oozing syrup into his swelling belly, to the tendril stroking around his cherry-red cock through another, blissful orgasm - his lips catch little splatters of his own come and he moans, finding it unbelievably erotic that this god is letting him taste himself. 

His whole body jerks with the force of the thrusts, bending him in half, the little follicles on the tentacle relentless against his over-sensitive prostate -  _ oh _ , he’s just come but he’s getting hard again just from the massive tentacle thrusting inside him. A little bump swells up in his stomach at a particularly rough thrust, the tentacle deep, so deep inside him, and he places his hand on his stomach where it appeared, moaning as it appears, disappears, with each brutal thrust.

Oh, he’s coming, he’s going to-

The thrusts pick up, faster and faster, and Victor rubs the bump in his belly as though he can help the tentacle stimulate him from the inside, moaning and wailing and incoherent with pleasure.  

Victor is  _ wrecked _ , blissed out and fucked senseless, until all that’s left is an overwhelming sensation of pleasure - his whole body one big erogenous zone, being brought to orgasm after orgasm. Come covers his chest and chin, and he runs his fingers through it, giggling at the rush of hormones as the tentacle milks his prostate for all it has.

“I’m coming,” Victor mumbles around the tentacle still in his mouth, as though he hasn’t been coming in long, shuddering bursts over and over again since the god began fucking him. 

At an almost punishing pace, the tentacle fucks him faster, until all Victor can do is groan, completely boneless as it keeps going, faster and faster and  _ harder _ against his prostate-

Victor comes, the tentacle comes, pumping so much liquid into him that it spills out of his passage and down his legs, his back, his stomach, and for a split second the world goes completely black-

When Victor comes back into his body, wonderfully defiled in the best way, the tentacles are gone. All that’s left is a sticky pool of fluids, both his own and not, and his limbs tangled all over each other on the cold floor. 

The sensations come back to him slowly - the salty sea air, the tickle of his hair against his arms (oh, his  _ hair _ , he thinks with shock and horror - sticky and tangled and as covered in come as the rest of him), the drool dribbling down his chin. His belly feels full, but the bump is gone, and he rubs the spot where it had been absently - almost wistfully.

Victor tries to move and his entire body  _ screams _ . 

“Ugh,” he groans, loud and miserable and pained, “ _ Uuuggh _ .”

Now that he’s not being fucked to incoherence, his thoughts are whirling. He… Hadn’t expected that. He’d expected some kind of sex thing, but the village wasn’t particularly wild - in fact it bordered on prudish. That kind of experience, the blank, blissful orgasms, the waves of pleasure after pleasure, the stretch like nothing he thought was possible-

So, what now? Victor blinks around the moonlit cave, still a deep, bloody red from the eclipse. His mobility is limited, as his body protests when he tries to move anything more substantial than his outermost extremities. 

He has officially consummated his sacrifice with their god - holy hell has he consummated it - so… What now?

_ Where are you?  _ Victor thinks with a pout, still staring at the hypnotic reflection of swirling water against the cave wall, just beside him.  _ Where is my god _ ?

A low chuckle makes him whimper with want, and he manages to shift enough so he’s on his hands and knees, gasping for breath with the effort. It had been amazing while it was happening, but his body protests the rough treatment now. Victor  _ aches _ , aches down to his bones, and while he doesn’t regret it he certainly hopes his god will treat him kindly afterwards. 

“You’ve done well, lovely thing,” the god grins, face obscured in shadow save for those ethereal blue eyes. 

A tentacle reaches out and runs along his lips - Victor parts them eagerly, wanting more of that blissfully sweet syrup, but the god pulls it back with a laugh.

“Close your eyes,” the god soothes, “So I can reward you.”

Victor smiles, soft and sweet and still fuzzy from the syrup now staining his lips. He closes his eyes obediently, plunging into darkness. He hears, sharper than before, the waves lapping against the rock, so gentle and soft and soothing. A tentacle wraps around his neck and he shudders, pleasantly, waiting.

The god comes closer. The soft patter of his footsteps seems to echo, and Victor is having a hard time not succumbing to his exhaustion, swaying in place even as his knees begin to ache from the cave floor. 

He sits back on his heels, eyes still closed, shuddering in anticipation. Come still drips out of him deliciously, little dribbles down his thighs and onto his calves every time he moves. 

The god kneels before him, so close that Victor can feel his warm breath against his lips. He wants to kiss him, wants so badly to be kissed, wonders what’s going to happen now as the tentacle around his neck tightens, just slightly-

There’s a pause. Eyes still closed, Victor hears the droplets from the ceiling, hears the low breathing coming from the god. It sounds labored, but he hasn’t been told to open his eyes.

The tentacle seems to clench and unclench, occasionally painfully tight around his neck. Victor, still with eyes closed, frowns in confusion, and his lips purse nervously. 

He begins to ask, “What is my-”

The god vomits, all down Victor’s front.

He hears the retching sound, feels something splatter across his chest, and he shrieks, eyes flying open and body jerking back. 

The tentacle around his neck  _ tightens _ , a painful pressure, and suddenly flies back with a painful moan from the god - the god, who kneels in front of him, face pressed to the stone and fingers digging painful, bloody crescents into his face.

“No,” he moans, again and again. Behind him, the tentacles writhe and hiss like vipers, whipping around and crashing against the walls and into the ocean below. “No, no no no no  _ no _ -”

His voice changes, then, something dark and sinister taking over, and Victor hears him snarl, “ _ He’s mine, he’s mine, let me finish this _ .”

Then, a plaintive, “Leave him alone, no,  _ no _ -”

Terror pierces Victor and he stumbles back, adrenaline overpowering the persistent ache in his bones. A tentacle grabs his ankle and he yelps as he fall, back hitting the ground  _ hard _ . The wind bursts from him in a pained  _ oof _ , and Victor grasps at his diaphragm as he struggles to get his breath back.

What’s happening? The elders hadn’t said anything about this, is it going wrong? What’s happening, he thinks in horror as the god writhes before him, what’s  _ happening _ ?

“What’s happening?” he croaks, throat scratchy and weak. “I don’t know what’s going on! Please-”

Like an arrow, one of the writhing tentacles shoots directly towards his eye - and stop, as though pulled by an invisible force. Victor yelps, shying away from it with shallow, terrified breaths. 

“What’s happening?” he tries again, pleading. Trembling, the cold creeping up his legs along with an awful, heart-wrenching terror. 

As if in answer, the god lets out a  _ roar _ and shoots up, onto his knees, chest bared and hands beating into the wall beside him. 

“ _ No _ ,” he snarls, “ _ You can’t hurt him-” _

Hurt who, Victor wonders with breathless terror. Hurt who? Hurt me? Hurt  _ me _ ? 

Slivers of blue drip like paint along the back wall. The moonlight is changing, blood red oozing down the cave and creating strange puddles in the water below them. 

Like the last, desperate snarl of a dying beast, the god lurches towards him, hand outstretched - 

And stumbles to the ground as though brought down by force, knees cracking against the cave floor. Victor winces at the sound, pressing himself further back. He’s trapped, there’s nowhere to run-

With one final shriek, the god grips his hair and  _ screams _ into the ground, louder than the roaring wind or crashing waves, and the moonlight bleeds from red to silvery white, and Victor catches sight of a dark blue tattoo on the god’s back, shimmering, writhing, hissing-

The tentacles shrink back into the god’s back. Victor stares, heart racing and body trembling and aching - made worse by his scrambling away. 

For a moment, Victor thinks the god might be passed out, but he’s too terrified to ask. Without the tentacles, he seems… Smaller, somehow. More human. More-

The god looks up. He gasps, crawling towards Victor, who whimpers and presses himself harder into the back wall. The god’s eyes don’t seem blue, now - they’re a simple amber brown, shimmering and human and  _ alive _ .

“Oh my god,” the god stammers. His voice sounds completely different, “Are you alright?”

“I,” Victor tries to answer. Is he alright? He just had the best sex of his entire life after being told he was to be given to a god - only to have to god turn on him and seemingly try to kill him. 

“I,” Victor tries again, bringing a trembling hand to his lips, where the tentacle’s sweet syrup still tingles.

It’s too much. Victor hurts, he’s tired, he has no idea how to process what just happened-

He passes out, just as the god reaches out for him with a trembling hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha woops, this got ~even longer~
> 
> This is the final chapter count, though. This chapter is pretty much entirely exposition, then more smut in ch3 (in fact thats entirely what ch 3 is shaping up to be lol). I guess I couldn't help myself in inserting some angst into the fic, but it'll all be resolved (kinda) next time! 
> 
> Also, don't panic about the "dubious consentacles" tag - as I was writing this chapter I realized that the smut scene in ch 1 definitely was _dubious_ , particularly from Yuuri's pov. That's not for anything that happens in this chapter or the next.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy, and comment if you did! Next chapter will be done next weekend!

Victor wakes, blinking blearily, completely naked and ice cold from the howling wind. He registers, faintly, that someone is carrying him, that his legs are wrapped around an equally naked waist and his arms, tied with thick seaweed chords, around bare shoulders. 

The ground goes up, down, up - whoever has him is walking, unsteady and silent up the steep cliff face. His cock presses against the bare flesh of someone’s back, and firm, calloused hands grip his thighs, but Victor is far too disoriented to find any eroticism in this.

“The sea isn’t this way,” Victor mumbles, disoriented.

The man carrying him stiffens. “What?”

“The kingdom under the sea,” Victor slurs, the deep cold not enough to fend off his exhaustion. He recognizes the thick black hair, the strange tattoo on his back, the white flesh shimmering silver from the moon above. 

“I don’t understand, what are you-”

But Victor has passed out again, wet and cold and trembling. 

* * *

When Victor wakes again, it’s quick like a thunderclap, whole body jerking up with a terrified gasp.

_ Ow _ . His body wails at the sudden movement, a bone-deep soreness radiating from his hips, down through his thighs and up his spine. He feels  _ raw _ , body pulsing and throbbing, skin crawling as the remnants of overstimulation leave him. Fuck, his ass  _ hurts _ . Ow, ow, ow-

Victor groans and shifts, body creaking and groaning painfully as he tries to re-arrange his limbs in a way that doesn’t hurt. 

_ It was so much fun while it was happening,  _ he thinks, miserably,  _ I didn’t know it would hurt so much afterwards _ . 

Once the radiating, throbbing pulse of his body fades, Victor’s mind catches up, and the frightening confusion of the end of his sacrifice comes back, full force. He’s on - he’s on a bed, now. A strange bed in a strange room, one he’s never been in before and is so wholly different in setup and architecture to any in his village that he thinks for a minute maybe he is under the sea-

His hair falls in matted, tangled clumps around his face, still smelling like salt and seawater. Most interestingly, though, are the dark green clothes that somehow have appeared on his body. Salt crystals cling to his arms - preferable to the sticky fluids from the cave - as though someone has doused him in seawater. Doused him, and dressed him, apparently. The robes are  _ soft _ , warm and lovely. 

Victor sighs, eyes drooping, still too tired to be terrified of this unfamiliar room he’s found himself in. Just as sleep begins to tug at him, though, a door in the corner of his vision opens and in steps-

The god?

Victor squints. He doesn’t look much like a god, now, though he is breathtakingly beautiful. Just a human, with lovely, moon-white skin and short-cropped black hair and a pair of corrective lenses with a long leather cord to keep them in place.

_ What kind of god wears glasses,  _ Victor thinks, confusion mounting. 

The god - the man? - slips, silent as a shadow with delicate footfalls towards the bed, placing down a tray on a wooden table beside the bed, carved with the same strange runes as on the cave wall. 

He takes a cloth and dips it into a bowl of water with some kind of herbs it - Victor can see little green flecks and a slight tinge to the color - and suddenly, his eyes flit to Victor, laying silently on his side.

“Oh!” he squeaks, nearly dropping the cloth, “You’re awake.” 

“Yes,” Victor whispers, as though his open eyes weren’t answer enough. 

“You - oh, goodness, you must,” the man bites his lip, and Victor notes that his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, as though he’s been crying.  _ What kind of god cries? _ “You must have so many questions.” 

“Yes,” Victor says again, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Of course,” the man says, voice cracking. “I will answer all of them, anything you need, but first,” he sinks to his knees on the floor, head bowed and shoulders trembling. Victor remembers him clattering to the cave floor, knees first, and winces. “Please, if you will allow me, I wish to tend to your wounds and care for you. It’s the least I can do, after I made you suffer so. Of course, I understand if you never wish to see me again, and in that case I’ll send in my mother to be your nurse, but if, I mean, I know it’s not much-”

Victor’s confusion only grows. Suffer? Yes, he is aching as though he’s run a marathon, but up until the end of the night what happened was the opposite of what he’d call suffering. 

“It’s alright,” Victor whispers. “It’s… Fine. Do as you wish.”

The man looks up, eyes watery and bloodshot and beyond that, the loveliest shade of amber-brown that Victor has ever seen. “Thank you.”

He stands, wiping off the dust from his knees - bruised, massively so, with ugly red slashes and scrapes in the middle of blue-black flesh - and resumes dabbing the cloth in the bowl of herbal water. He presses it to Victor’s forehead, and Victor starts, surprised by its warmth. 

“It’s good for skin that’s been exposed to the drying sea air,” the man explains. “Once you’re feeling up to it, you can have a bath. I washed you with salt water in the cave, but that leaves this itchy residue, and I didn’t wash,” he swallows, “I didn’t wash  _ everything _ .” 

Victor notes the slight stickiness between his legs, still, with some embarrassment. 

“What’s your name?” the man asks as he works. 

“Victor,” Victor responds. “Victor Nikiforov.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, dipping a second cloth into a bowl of clean water and dabbing away the little bits of herbs. “I’m… Yuuri. Katsuki Yuuri.” 

“Yuuri,” Victor mumbles, watching little droplets of water tumblr from his face and onto the bed. “Yuuri, what on earth just happened?” 

Yuuri freezes as though he’s been slapped. His eyes begin to water, his lower lip to tremble. 

“It’s  _ okay _ ,” Victor rushes to reassure him, though his throat protests him speaking, “I’m not  _ mad _ . I’m-”

He begins to cough and in an instant, Yuuri is there with a cup of hot tea. It’s sweet, like ginger and honey. 

“You’re not mad?” Yuuri squeaks as the coughing dies down. 

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Victor says, more vehemently than he intends, “I’m  _ confused _ . I was told that I was to be given to an all-powerful god as a sacrifice, then I got to the cave and the moon went all red and then,” he stops, flushing, unable to find the words to describe the tentacles probing every inch of his body, inside and out, “and then you had some kind of meltdown, then I passed out, and you are very clearly  _ not  _ a god and you’re apologizing for something and I have  _ no idea what it is or why you’re sorry about it _ .” 

“I violated you,” Yuuri whimpers, pitifully. “I-”

“I thought you were  _ supposed to _ ,” Victor cries out, “I expected it. I  _ wanted _ it. I thought I was to be a - a  _ bride _ , of sorts, but something clearly went wrong.” 

Yuuri blinks. With what seems like a monumental effort to calm his stammering nerves, he takes a deep breath and says, miserably, “The only thing that went wrong, or went wrong in a sense, is that you were never supposed to leave the cave alive.” 

Victor goes very, very still. 

“What?” he whispers, something cold and unpleasant settling in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m not,” Yuuri wipes at his eyes, expression twisting with equal parts anger and anguish, “I’m not a god. I’m a  _ curse _ . My f-family is cursed. Legend says we angered some demon lord generations ago, and now, we live in fear that one of the Katsuki children will be like… Like me.” 

“Like you,” Victor repeats, blankly. 

“When the moon goes blood red, the demon takes hold and demands a sacrifice,” Yuuri whispers. 

“Demands a…” Victor swallows. His stomach  _ roils _ . “But… That’s not what…” 

“I should,” Yuuri stammers, “I should wait until you have more energy, there’s no reason to trouble you-”

“No,” Victor interrupts, voice ragged and rough, “No.  _ Trouble me _ . How - how do I, that’s not what they…” 

Yuuri closes his eyes, fat tear tracks trickling down his cheeks. 

“Long ago,” he begins, voice wobbling, “My ancestors made a bargain with the elders of your village. They would convince their people that it’s a beautiful sacrifice, something good. Before that, the demon would attack the village, taking the first person they saw, leaving destruction and carnage and terror. So they agreed, if someone has to die - better they believe they’re being saved up until the very end.” 

Victor’s voice sounds like it’s swimming through honey as it reaches his own ears, and he says, “So every sacrifice, in the centuries of written history, has been…”

Yuuri opens his eyes. His gaze is steady, despite the pain in it and the tear-tracks down his cheeks. “Killed. I’m so, so sorry, Victor.”

“Oh my god,” Victor breathes, “I - I almost - but,  _ why _ ?”

“I don’t know why,” Yuuri whimpers. “The records of  _ why _ and  _ how _ were destroyed generations ago. We don’t-”

“No,” Victor cuts him off, “No. Why - why didn’t you kill me?”

Yuuri’s eyes go wide, as though he never thought to wonder that himself.

“I don’t know that either,” Yuuri admits. “I remember the demon taking hold, the noose wrapping around your neck, and thinking - thinking how desperately I didn’t want you to die.” 

Victor shudders. It’s so much, almost too much to take in. In the span of one night, everything he thought he knew - oh, but Yakov’s voice rings in his ear, the fear, begging him not to go, begging him to lie-

All this time, he was trying to protect Victor, and Victor didn’t read the signs - but god, how could he, when the Elders were wise and all-knowing and-

“Victor?” Yuuri whispers, gripping Victor’s trembling hand, “Victor, you’re shaking all over.” 

“I,” Victor swallows, “I - they sent me to  _ die _ -”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whimpers, stepping further away. “I’m - I’m so sorry. I should go, I-”

_ Wait _ , Victor thinks,  _ wait _ . 

He doesn’t want Yuuri to go. Strangely, despite everything, he isn’t upset with Yuuri. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t-

Yuuri flees, humiliated, before Victor can entreat him to stay. The tray of tea and bowls of water stay on the bedside table, and Victor lies awake, watching the steam emanating from them slowly dissipate as they grow cold.

* * *

 

Yuuri comes in twice, after that, over the span of what’s probably a few hours. The first time, noting Victor’s still awake, he squeaks and shuts the door just as fast as he’d opened it. The second, he takes a deep breath and comes in to pour him a fresh cup of tea.

“Good for your throat,” he stammers, not meeting Victor’s gaze. 

Victor sleeps, fitfully. The painful sensations in his body prevent him from relaxing completely, each one twinging in turn just as he thinks he’s found his way to comfort. First, it’s the marathon-ache in his lower body that somehow isn’t solved when he moves - then, the discomfort of being only partially clean settles in. He’s sticky, between his legs, and his skin prickles against the salt water Yuuri washed him with. 

His hair is in an awful state: tangled, salty, knotted so horrifically Victor wonders if he might need to cut it. Victor manages to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the metal bowl and notes that mascara is still smeared on his cheeks - faint, smoky-black splotches. 

Eventually, another feeling settles in his belly: he’s  _ starving _ . 

Victor doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s definitely been more than a day since he’s eaten. That thought, more than anything, propels him up from the very soft sheets in this strange bed. 

It takes effort for him to stand. He feels like a newborn foal, wobbly and jelly-legged - he limps, shaking all over, to the doorway. The soles of his feet sting where he’d been cut on the rocks, though Yuuri has wrapped thick bandages over them. 

Victor realizes as he steps out into a bare hallway that he has no idea where he’s going - it’s deadly quiet, the hallway dotted with doors that look like they lead to separate rooms. Well, he figures, it’s either left or right - so he chooses right, and grips the wall for support as he limps forward.

He picks up a chatter in the distance and follows it, down one more winding hallway until he’s in what seems like a waiting area. The faint sound of rushing water in the distance makes him shudder.

“Ah - you must be Victor.”

Victor whirls around. Before him is a short, plump little woman, undeniably a relative of Yuuri’s - they have the same round cheeks and sweet, slightly nervous smile. 

“Ah, yes,” he says, “Yes. Victor Nikiforov.”

The woman nods. “I’m Katsuki Hiroko, Yuuri’s mother,” then, delicately, as though placating a child, “How are you feeling?”

Victor frowns, emotions and physical body an aching, incoherent jumble. He spent what felt like hours having wonderful sex and too many orgasms to even begin to count, then was almost murdered. He woke up with a beautiful young man offering to nurse him back to health, then was told his beloved village had sent him to a cave by the ocean to die.

He settles on, “I’m fine. I-”

His stomach rumbles, loudly, as if to complete the thought.

Hiroko’s nervous smile softens a little bit, and her eyes crinkle fondly. Victor thinks he likes her already. 

“Are you hungry?” she coos, soothing in a way that is deeply, intimately maternal. Victor can smell the fry oil permanently clinging to her short cropped hair, her robe, and is struck by a sudden, deep desire for her to tuck him into bed and sing him a lullaby.

“Yes,” Victor whispers. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and his brow furrows as he immediately hits a knot. “Yes, very.”

She bows her head apologetically. “I’ll make you something immediately. Forgive me, my son wished to give you the day to… recover.” Her voice catches on the word  _ recover _ , snags on it like it’s a bramble - but she recovers quickly. “In the meantime, would you like a bath?”

“Ah, don’t trouble yourself,” Victor says, “Just some hot water, and a comb - I know drawing a bath can be a hassle.”

Hiroko starts. “Please,” she soothes, “It’s no hassle - I suppose Yuuri never told you, but this inn is built on a series of natural hotsprings.”

_ He didn’t even tell me this was an inn _ , Victor thinks. 

“Oh,” Victor says. “Well, in that case.” 

“Perfect,” Hiroko’s chubby cheeks split into a wide grin. “We have an herbal bath - good for both skin and hair. And, even if we had to draw you a bath, it wouldn’t be a problem. It’s the least we can do for you.” 

Victor frowns.  _ It’s the least we can do for you _ . Here was Hiroko reflecting the same sentiment Yuuri had - that Yuuri had hurt him, that now he needed them to care for him and repair the damage. 

He follows Hiroko, taking a step forward - and her eyes widen owlishly at his limp.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, sounding absolutely heartbroken, “Oh, Vicchan - here, we can something to transport you.”

“It’s fine,” Victor reassures her, “It’s fine. I can walk, I’m just… sore.” 

_ I’d like Yuuri to carry me _ , Victor thinks. He flushes, though, it suddenly dawning on him that Hiroko knows with absolute certainty that he had sex with her son last night. Well, a version of him, at least. 

No, worse, Victor realizes - they think Yuuri hurt him. Raped him, even. 

“Not in a bad way, though,” Victor stammers, desperately trying to balance reassuring Yuuri’s mom that he very much enjoyed it without actually discussing the details of their sex. “I don’t…” He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and goes bright red as he says, “Yuuri didn’t hurt me. Please, I don’t want you to think he did.”

Hiroko looks at him skeptically, worriedly. Victor is too embarrassed to tell her how much he enjoyed being fucked by tentacles. She looks like she might faint if she hears the word  _ fucked _ . 

“I just want a bath,” Victor pleads. 

Instantly, Hiroko returns to her default doting mother expression, though her eyes are still sad and worried. “Of course, follow me.”

* * *

 

The bath is an instant pain relief, lovely and hot and smelling like sweet herbal medicine. Victor can’t bite back the moan as he sinks into it, up to his neck in wonderful warmth. Instantly, his skin feels softer, silky - the sea air a natural salt scrub, he supposes. His feet sting just slightly, but that fades away as the remaining aches in his body lessen. 

Victor dunks his head underwater, his tangled hair swirling all around him, before coming up and scrubbing the bathing herbs all over his cheeks, his eyes. Then, with a flush that has nothing to do with the hot water, he reaches between his legs.

He hisses, his hole still tender from last night, and he winces as he cleans out the last traces of the come the tentacles pumped inside him. It stings, but he has the sense it’s for the best to get it out of him. 

He sighs in relief once he’s finished, sinking back against the warm stones, hot from the bath’s steam. 

The soft patter of footsteps behind him drew his attention, and he sees Yuuri slip outside the inn with another tray, this one loaded with towels, a few bottles, and a comb.

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs, eyes sliding along the exposed curve of his clavicle. 

Yuuri starts, like he hadn’t expected Victor to notice him. He’s wearing a sort of a robe, not unlike Hiroko’s, unlike anything Victor is familiar with. It’s a lovely blue with long, white stripes down it. 

“I brought you towels,” Yuuri mumbles, eyes downcast. 

Victor frowns. He hates how - how  _ sad _ everyone here seems. Like he’s suffered greatly at their hands. It’s not them he’s mad at - they aren’t the ones who  _ lied  _ to him.

Yuuri turns to leave, flushed, and Victor calls out, “Wait!”

Yuuri freezes.

Victor thinks, quick and clever, because he hadn’t really thought of how to convince Yuuri to stay. 

“You um, you said you would care for me,” Victor says.

“Yes,” Yuuri nods uncertainly.

“Will you,” Victor stammers, wondering why he’s suddenly so nervous. “Will you - will you help me comb the knots from my hair?” 

Yuuri’s eyes widen, lovely and glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. 

“Ah,” he murmurs. “If you want me too? There’s - I brought an herbal soak for hair, too, if you’d like it.”

“I would,” Victor smiles. 

“May I,” Yuuri swallows, cheeks a lovely shade of pink, “May I get in the bath with you? It might be easier?”

“Yes,” Victor breathes, a little too quickly. 

Yuuri nods and, hands trembling, slips the robe from his shoulders. His movements are precise, his body bared in a way that seems so natural. It’s intimate. Cozy.

Victor closes his eyes as Yuuri slips into the bath with him, his fingers sure and soft as he works his way through the knots. 

It pinches, just a little, but Victor isn’t surprised. Yuuri is exceedingly gentle as he pulls apart what he can with his fingers, coating them in a sharp-smelling paste and rubbing them deliciously into Victor’s scalp. 

Only the hunger prevents Victor from drifting off right there, in the bath. 

Yuuri starts, “Are you-”

“Please don’t ask me if I’m alright.”

Yuuri’s fingers freeze for just a moment before they resume their delightful movement. Victor feels the silky strands of his long hair separate, slowly but surely, and cascade like a silvery waterfall down his back.

“But,” Victor continues, resting his cheek on his upper arm, outside the spring, “You’re not… It’s not because of you.” 

Yuuri hums, thoughtfully. “You’re taking this better than I’d expected,” he comments, a little uncertainly.

“I don’t know if it’s really sunk in yet,” Victor admits. “Plus, you’ve been very kind to me.” 

Yuuri pauses. He whispers, “It’s the least I can do.” 

Victor frowns, though Yuuri can’t see it. His feelings are still so, so complicated. He knew, or at least presumed, that the god would have sex with him. Maybe not exactly the kind of sex that happened, but  _ something _ . So, he’d gone in wanting and expecting that part to happen. 

The truth did sour that somewhat, that he’d been manipulated into going to a murderous, ancient demon, but he’d - he’d  _ wanted _ everything that happened. He’d wanted, but would he have wanted if he’d known the whole truth?

“You didn’t hurt me, Yuuri,” Victor settle on. Then, with a burning flush on his cheeks, and because Hiroko isn’t here, he continues, “Actually, I found it quite. Um. Quite enjoyable. Until you tried to kill me, I mean.” 

Yuuri squeaks in surprise. “I know what I look like when the demon is there,” he stammers, “That didn’t - that didn’t frighten you?”

Victor shrugs. “I thought you were a god,” he whines, petulant, “I just kind of… Went with it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri sighs, “I’m not… I’m as far from a god as you can get, I think.”

Victor doesn’t quite know how to respond to that.

Perhaps misinterpreting his silence as agreement, Yuuri sighs, morosely. It contrasts so heavily with the lovely, gentle work of Yuuri’s fingers, that Victor stiffens for just a moment. The feeling is so wonderful, though, the tips of Yuuri’s fingers barely touching Victor’s naked back as he works the knots out, the comb against his scalp…

“You’re limping,” Yuuri mumbles, miserably, “Your feet…”

Victor frowns. “I don’t… I don’t know why you keep insisting I should be upset at what happened,” he responds, “You couldn’t help it, it seems. The way it was set up - I was meant to enjoy what happened, at least until the end.”

It really hasn’t seemed to hit him, how close to death he came. He recognizes it, rationally, but in his heart it’s hard to believe he nearly died when Yuuri is so close, his breath hot against the shell of Victor’s ear, and Victor’s body thrumming with feeling and vitality.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Yuuri murmurs, and slumps forward, his head pressing against Victor’s back.

Victor squeaks, surprised, but he relaxes at the warm sensation of Yuuri, so close to him. Caring for him, kind and sweet in a way no one from his village was. 

“You’re free to go home any time you wish,” Yuuri continues, pulling back, “Maybe once you’re feeling better.”

Victor thinks, surrounded by lightly scented water and the luscious massage of Yuuri’s fingers in his scalp, that he’s never felt better in his life. He’s just about to tell Yuuri so when, all of a sudden, an unbidden memory makes him freeze down to the tips of his toes.

“Victor?” Yuuri asks, hands stilling. “Victor, are you alright?”

“I,” Victor stammers, “I can’t go home.”

“Why not?” 

Yuuri’s breath, his high-pitched, shallow question, is hot against Victor’s neck.

Victor swallows. “There’s only one record of a sacrifice returning to the village,” he says, flat and toneless in contrast to his beating heart, “They hanged him in the square.” 

Yuuri is silent for a long, heavy moment. Then, he breathes, high-pitched and horrified, “Oh my god.”

* * *

 

The weight of their conversation, and the now constant pang of hunger in his belly, saps the relaxation from the bath. Yuuri’s silence is painful as he rinses the conditioner from Victor’s hair, and Victor swallows around the lump in his throat.

He wraps Victor’s hair lovingly in a soft cloth, twists it up on top of Victor’s head.

Victor turns, smiling softly, and puts his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder to wipe away a stray fleck of green from his skin. 

“How’d you learn to do that?” he wonders aloud, slipping out of the bath to sit on a bench nearby. 

Yuuri gets out to join him, though he doesn’t meet his gaze, even as Victor touches his chin and tilts it up. 

“I grew up around women,” Yuuri says. “Caring for their long hair.”

Victor flushes. He’s intimately aware of the space between his and Yuuri’s naked bodies, of the slow drip of water and slight sheen of sweat on Yuuri’s brow. 

“You know,” Victor murmurs, voice thick and husky from the bath, “I expected to end last night with a husband.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen, his flush deepens - and he abruptly shutters himself, expression going dark and flat.

“Don’t make fun of me, Victor,” Yuuri whispers, tears beading at the corners of his eyes.

“I’m not,” Victor says, dismayed.

Yuuri fidgets, toeing at the ground in agitation. Then, without warning, he grabs Victor’s ankle and rests it across his naked thighs. Victor flushes, slightly, legs spread wide and body exposed - but Yuuri seems only to want to massage his aching soles, to rub ointment along the cuts and re-bandage them with firm, sure motions. 

Victor lies back on the bench, letting Yuuri care for his poor feet. The steam from the bath warms his naked body, shielding him from the chill outside. He’s tired, still, but his hunger is too great for him to want to sleep. 

“I’ve left a change of clothes for you,” Yuuri mumbles, nodding to another set of olive green robes. When Victor looks to him, his newly-bandaged feet are resting on the bench, not Yuuri’s lovely lap - and Yuuri is dressed again. 

“Ah,” Victor says, sitting up stiffly. “Thank you.”

Yuuri nods, cheeks flushed pink and gaze to the floor. “Enjoy your dinner.”

With that, he leaves - and Victor wonders if he means not to eat with him.

* * *

 

Yuuri doesn’t join him for dinner. Instead, Victor is surrounded by the very lovely Katsuki family - Hiroko, who he has already met, Toshiya, Yuuri’s father, and Mari, the sister. They dote on him in differing levels, from Hiroko who seems as though she was born to feed and house wayward strays, to Mari who wrinkles her nose and rolls her eyes in a way only an older sister can manage. 

Mari whines, hidden away in the kitchen where she thinks Victor can’t hear, “What about Yuuri, mama?”

“He wants to be alone, you know this by now,” Hiroko sighs, “We haven’t forgotten about him. Don’t treat Vicchan unkindly because you’re frustrated.” 

Any residual emotional turmoil vanishes, however, when Hiroko places down the plates in front of him. It’s simple - hot, steaming soup and stir-fried seaweed and rice porridge - but Victor attacks it like a ravenous beast, gulping down the hot soup straight from the bowl and spooning plain rice into his mouth.

“Mm,” Victor moans, “S’good.” 

“Be careful, slow down,” Hiroko laughs, rubbing Victor’s back fondly, “We don’t want a stomach ache, do we?” 

Victor swallows thickly around a too-big spoonful of rice and seaweed, pausing to take deep, gasping breaths. 

“It’s very simple, today, the food,” Hiroko admits, bowing her head like she’s embarrassed, “You’ve slept the whole day, nearly, so I didn’t want to cook anything too rich.”

“It’s amazing,” Victor moans around another mouthful, “The best meal I’ve had in ages.” 

Hiroko beams with a gentle sort of pride. She says, “Vicchan, please - stay with us as long as you need.” 

Victor stiffens. Yuuri must have told her about their earlier conversation. He sighs, long and low, and puts the bowl of soup back down. This has been lovely - the bath, the attention, the food and abundant generosity - but what is to become of him after? He has no home, no family, no god to take him away - but then, wasn’t that true before he was chosen, anyway?

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the bowl, suddenly somber.

The Katsuki family looks to him, hopefully. His belly is very, very full - a little too full, he ate so fast. Victor pats it, thoughtfully, thinking with some embarrassment of how the lovely syrup filled him up last night. 

“You’ve all been so kind,” Victor says, sleep beginning to prickle at him now that his belly is full. “So, so kind. I didn’t… I’m glad, Yuuri has such a kind family.”

Mari stiffens, slightly, but Hiroko says gently, “It’s an honor to treat our guests generously.” 

“I’m not mad at him,” Victor continues, slurring a little in his exhaustion, “I want to help him.”

Mari relaxes, and she speaks to him for the first time, saying, “We do too, kid. Just… be nice to him, okay? He’s really shook up about what he did to you.”

“He didn’t do anything, though,” Victor protests, sniffling slightly, “It was my stupid village who s-sent me there, they sent me there to die-”

Hiroko wraps her chubby arms around him, and Victor melts into her soft, squishy embrace. 

“It’s alright,” Hiroko soothes, “It’s alright. You’re away from them, now. You don’t need to worry about them again.”

Victor lets out a low, shuddering breath. His emotions are on overdrive, it seems, roiling and churning and coming out in unexpected ways. Yuuri must be the same, he supposes - but for now, he lets Hiroko soothe him, basks in maternal affection, something he hasn’t known since his parents passed all those years ago.

* * *

 

Sleep presses against Victor like a vice. Sleep, and something deeper, something aching and hollow. Loneliness? Was that it? Loneliness isn’t something unfamiliar to Victor, but with the warmth of home-cooked food in his belly and the feel of Yuuri’s fingers tingling against his scalp and the knowledge that the villlage elders  _ lied _ -

Victor supposes he can’t even be too angry with them. If the god is as powerful as Yuuri says, why would they terrify some poor young thing with the knowledge that they’re going to their death? Would Victor have been happier if he’d known he was to die, only to find himself still alive at the end?

He shudders. 

No, absolutely not. 

After a few long, languid hours of lying sleeplessly in bed, he groans and sits up. The moon is luminous and full, lighting up the hallways of the inn eerily. It’s not a red moon tonight, Victor knows. 

His thoughts flit to Yuuri, still looking at him like he’s a crystal sculpture that Yuuri shattered. Yuuri cares, Victor knows - the gentle strokes of his fingers through his hair and across the soles of his feet proved that well enough, and Victor, well… Victor knows he’s attractive. He’s seen the way Yuuri’s eyes caress his body, the faint flush so familiar after all the suitors he had in the village. 

Something’s holding him back, Victor knows, and he suspects it has to do with the residual guilt over what happened. 

Well, he should do something to fix that. 

Victor creeps along the luminous hallways, the moonlight shimmering off the same carved runes from the cave, from his new bedroom. He wonders what they mean, vaguely. 

He knows from watching Yuuri run from him where his room is and, whole body gleaming and silver from the light outside, he knocks at the door.

Victor waits. He waits, and waits, listening to an unsure shuffle from inside.

Yuuri opens the door, blinking blearily but obviously not asleep. 

“Victor,” he murmurs, “What are you doing here? Are you alright?” 

Victor nods. “Yuuri,” he chirps, trying to sound more cheerful than he feels, “Let’s sleep together!” 

Yuuri stiffens. “What?”

“Let’s sleep together,” Victor repeats, shifting from one foot to the other to ease the pain in his feet, “I can’t sleep, so…”

Yuuri purses his lips. “Why me, Victor?”

Victor blinks. “Why… Why you what?”

Yuuri sighs. “Why do you keep coming to me?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. He knows how he  _ wants _ to answer it - reassuring Yuuri, again and again, that he’s fine with it. 

Caught up in his own head, he decides to start with some harmless teasing and says, “Because it’s cruel of you to abandon me the day after our wedding night.”

Yuuri’s face goes blank, shuttering just before anger clouds his expression. Victor winces. He’d forgotten how Yuuri reacted to his previous comment about marriage - thought it was a  _ joke _ , some cruel tease. Victor isn’t entirely sure himself if he’s serious, but he doesn’t - he doesn’t intend it to be mean.

“I’m not your husband,” Yuuri snaps at him, hands fisting into his shirt angrily, “I’m a  _ curse _ . I hurt you, and you keep coming back to me.”

“Yuuri, you didn’t-”

“ _ Stop saying that! _ ” Yuuri’s eyes fill with angry tears. “Do you - do you think it’s a joke, that I’ll never find love because of who I am? That I turn into some sex-crazed beast during the red moon, that I worry everyday about falling for someone because I know how much I could hurt them? I could kill them, Victor!” 

Victor swallows. “I’m not joking with you,” he says, sheepish and upset, “I don’t know how to convince you that you didn’t hurt me.”

The energy seems to drain from Yuuri, and he rubs his eyes, miserably. “Go back to your room, Victor,” Yuuri mumbles into his hands, “I don’t deserve to be with you.”

He shuts the door before Victor can respond, and Victor takes a deep, shaky breath. He’s  _ hurt _ . 

It dawns on him, though, that while everyone - Yuuri included - has prioritized his comfort, there hasn’t been much attention paid to how  _ Yuuri _ is handling all of this. It’s obviously not well.

Victor sighs, limping back to his room, loneliness an aching hollow in his heart.

That’s it, then.

He’s going to make Yuuri feel better. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so welcome to the final(ish) chapter! So, I definitely have ideas for continuations, but I at the moment don't have time to turn this into a big multichapter work. Unfortunately they don't break the curse by the end of this hahah, honestly this chapter is another long sex scene. Like, they talk about their feelings and have sex. I tried to have the emotional buildup work, so hopefully you feel that it flows more or less naturally. I really wanted to get to the sex tho
> 
> The smut is mostly tentacle free, so I added a few things to spice it up since if yer reading tentacle fic you probably have a taste for something other than sweet vanilla missionary. All consensual, though! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support! I think this fic is on track to be my third most read ff, at only three chapters. I guess I know now what the fandom wants :D Once again, thanks so so so much for your comments!!! If you want to see more let me knwo (and let me know what scenes you wanna see), and I'll try to write little chapters here and there. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Yuuri seems to be doing his best to never see Victor for more than a few precious moments at a time. He cares for him, as he said he would - re-bandages his feet until the sores begin to scab over, washes his long hair in the bath, and provides him fresh clothing when Victor’s gets dirty. 

The time passes slowly, the moments spent at the inn bleeding into each other in a slow repetition. Victor wakes to find Yuuri has already placed a bowl by the bed to wash his hands and face. He eats breakfast - rice with egg and a salty sort of sauce he’s never tasted before, often - helps the Katsukis with household chores as much as his aching legs will allow, and is otherwise left to wander the grounds of the hotsprings. 

At night, he’s given a bath, and Yuuri joins him, their bodies so intimately close but Yuuri so unreachable.

Victor tries, really, he does - he knocks on Yuuri’s door in the morning only to find that he’s out of the house, follows him around while he does his chores until he’s shooed off, and at night he knocks on Yuuri’s door, though by now he knows Yuuri will ignore him. 

After the third day, Victor’s legs no longer hurt. The scabs on his feet are healing, thanks to Yuuri’s ministrations in the morning and evening as he changes the bandages, and he’s beginning to go a little stir crazy. 

He’s explored the beautiful, lush wood halls of the inn - followed the curling carved runes in the walls to their end, behind a locked door at the end of a drab hallway of storage spaces. He’s dipped his toes into many of the surrounding baths, hot and hotter, some herbal and some plain. It’s wonderfully empty - which Victor makes the mistake of mentioning to Yuuri one day while Yuuri is carefully massaging a citrus-scented balm into some bruising that still lingers on his arms. 

“They decided to close for the few days around my… Condition,” Yuuri mumbles, darkly, “We’ll re-open this weekend.”

Victor winces. He somehow manages to find the exact wrong thing to say at any given moment, and he mumbles out a quick apology. 

Somehow, Yuuri’s sad sigh of, “It’s alright, you didn’t know,” is still painful.

As Victor’s thoughts wander, he wonders if he should stay hidden when the inn reopens, in case anyone from his village is passing through. After all, who’s to say they won’t try to kill him, like in that old legend about the rejected sacrifice.

Early one morning, Victor lies awake, tossing and turning and sleeping worse than when he was aching all over. Finally, in an attempt to tire himself out, he gets out of bed and wanders the hallways in the gray light of morning-

Only to find Yuuri, slinking out in nothing but a robe, unaware that he’s being watched. 

Victor bites his lip. He knows he shouldn’t follow, betray Yuuri’s trust - but curiosity overwhelms him, and he slips out the door. He hasn’t been outside, truly, since that night, and the chill bites at him. Yuuri doesn’t look cold, though his bare legs are visible, muscular and rippling under the robe. 

As they exit the clearing, barely a few minutes later, the sea emerges in the long blue horizon. Victor freezes, blinks - his foot hits a branch, which crackles loudly beneath him. Luckily, the sudden roar of the waves drowns it out. 

Yuuri stands, legs spread, in front of the surf. His robe billows out behind him, and Victor tries not to stare at the smooth expanse of his bare thighs. 

He disrobes entirely, revealing both the white, twisted fabric of his underwear, a thong that does nothing to cover his ass - and the deep blue tattoo, spread across the smooth skin of his back. It ripples, almost seeming to move. Victor can see it clearly now - a squid, with lamplike yellow eyes and fat, curled tentacles reaching across every inch of Yuuri’s back. As he watches, he realizes - it doesn’t  _ seem _ to move, it  _ is _ moving. The tentacles flutter, rippling up and down his back like waves. 

Yuuri stands by the beach, hand outstretched. He reaches towards the ocean, fingers splayed out - and the tide  _ splits _ . Barely, but enough that Victor notices a fork in the water as it laps up the shore. 

He is filled simultaneously with awe and fear, watching Yuuri’s fingers curl and the water curl with it.

Victor can see him from the side, sees his eyes, brown and wide and desperate. He mouths  _ please _ , again and again, and all of a sudden the slow tide bursts into a spray of water, as though a bomb has exploded beneath the waves-

Then, it ends. Yuuri sinks to his knees, letting out a low, miserable moan. Over the roar of the waves, Victor hears him sob, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop him, next time.”

* * *

 

Victor isn’t sure if Yuuri was talking to anyone, by the beach, or if he was just calling out his agony to the spray. Certainly, Victor has done that many times, when he was cold and lonely and remembering his parents, long dead. 

His mind whirls - Yuuri can call on some kind of power, even when he’s not possessed by the demon. He’s using it to try to fend off the demon. Does the demon appear, even when the moon isn’t out?

When Yuuri leaves, Victor sits by the beach, watching the waves lap upon the shore. What’s clear, even moreso than before, is that Yuuri is dealing with this alone - and Victor, while he doesn’t know exactly what Yuuri is going through in regards to the demon, he’s the only other person who has been through the experience of possession with him. 

If only Yuuri could look him in the eye, now. 

Victor huffs. He hems and haws and wonders what on earth he can do to make Yuuri realize he cares for him, that Yuuri  _ didn’t hurt him _ . 

An idea hits him, then. It’s unorthodox, maybe, but if he’s going to help Yuuri he needs Yuuri to look at him like he’s made of stronger stuff than glass. 

That night, after a warm, delicious meal from Hiroko Katsuki and a lovely soak in the hot springs where he really, truly  _ revels _ in how good he feels now that he’s not one big bruise of a human being - late at night, with the moon just beginning to wane in the sky, Victor slips down the hallway to Yuuri’s room.

He knocks. Yuuri, as per usual, ignores him - so he opens the door and steps inside.

Yuuri is awake, reading to the faint light of a lamp by his bedside. It emanates a faintly salty smell, like seawater. He looks at Victor, the lamp enhancing the dark circles under his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks. 

Victor’s fingers hesitate on the tie of his robes and, in one motion, he strips them off, standing bare and naked in Yuuri’s room.

“Victor,” Yuuri murmurs, the faint flush on his cheeks visible in the low light, “What are you doing?”

Victor swallows. “I’m going to prove to you that you haven’t hurt me.” 

“What are you-”

Victor climbs onto the bed, on his hands and knees, leaning down so Yuuri can see the curve of his bare ass at the edge of the bed. 

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs, breath hot against Yuuri’s chin, “Let me ride you.”

Yuuri squeaks. He flushes down to his chest, peeking out from a too-large nightshirt, and his eyes flit down between Victor’s legs.

“Mm?” Victor hums, lips just barely brushing Yuuri’s. “Sound good?”

“God,” Yuuri breathes, trembling, “How can you want me? You could barely  _ walk _ -”

“I can walk now,” Victor breathes, licking a wet stripe up Yuuri’s neck, kissing where his Adam’s apple bobs, up and down. “I want this, please, I want you. Did that feel good?”

“Yes,” Yuuri breathes, but his body stays stiff and nervous. “Victor, I…”

He trails off. Victor frowns and pulls back, so he can see all of Yuuri’s round face, illuminated by the lamp.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, slowly, “You didn’t hurt me. But - were you hurt?” 

Yuuri’s eyes widen and he bites his lip, looking off to the side. “Why are you asking me that,” he whispers, “When I’m the one who could have killed you?”

Victor hums, softly, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s neck. “We’re in similar situations,” he notes, rubbing his thumb soothingly along Yuuri’s shoulder. “Neither of us chose this. I went along with it because pleasing the god is what everyone in our village is raised to do - you went along with it because you… You’re cursed.”

Yuuri inhales, sharply, and his eyes are impossibly wide as he manages to meet Victor’s gaze, finally. 

“Yes,” he breathes.

Victor nods, somber. “I enjoyed what happened, that night. Up till the end. Did you enjoy it?”

Yuuri doesn’t break his gaze, and his expression sharpens. “I was so worried I was hurting you,” he admits, “The entire time, I thought I was f-forcing-”

He breaks off, voice crackling at the edges. Victor wants to kiss the tears from his eyes.

“And now that I’ve told you that you weren’t-”

Yuuri winces. Victor cups his cheeks, firmly.

“ _ Now that you know you weren’t hurting me _ ,” Victor says, slowly, not letting Yuuri turn his gaze away, “How do you feel about that night?”

Yuuri is silent for a long, slow moment. Then, the anxious, nervous energy seems to disappear through his trembling fingertips, and he sighs as he presses a soft kiss to Victor’s naked shoulder.

“I wish I’d been given a choice,” he whispers. 

There’s something raw and vulnerable about what Yuuri is saying, and Victor feels it panging against his own heart. He wasn’t given a choice, either - though he was much calmer about the fact, because of his ignorance. Somehow, fate brought them together. Victor can feel it.

“Let me give you a choice now,” Victor purrs, pulling back from straddling Yuuri. He sits on his heels, beside Yuuri on the bed. “I want to sleep with you, if you’ll let me - but I understand if you need more time. Just know that if - if you’re ready, whenever that day comes, if at all… I’ll be yours.”

Yuuri shudders. Victor notes him hardening, out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t dare touch. 

“You really want me?” Yuuri shivers.

Victor nods. “Very much so.”

Yuuri closes his eyes, hands trembling as he brings them up to his lips. “I keep remembering that night. It was so cold, I tried to stay so far away - I can’t stop thinking about how scared I was, that I was hurting you.”

Victor kisses Yuuri’s clenched hands, and Yuuri’s eyes are wet as he opens them, slowly. 

“I can’t go home,” Victor whispers, “I’m going to be with you for a while. I want you to look at me with happiness, not guilt.” 

“Do you think sleeping with me will help that?” Yuuri laughs, shakily. Breathily.

Victor looks at Yuuri pointedly. “This isn’t about what I think. Do  _ you  _ think this’ll help?” 

Yuuri bites his lip. “If I have something to compare that night to,” he says, very slowly, like he’s still puzzling it out in his head, “If I see you and you’re smiling, and I know you’re enjoying yourself, that I can make you feel good…”

He trails off. Victor’s heart thuds in anticipation, pounding so loud in his chest he wonders if Yuuri can hear.

Yuuri nods, shakily, and cups Victor’s cheeks, bringing their lips together. Victor wants to cheer - finally,  _ finally! _ \- and he enthusiastically clambers on top of Yuuri, clacking their teeth together in his excitement.

Victor lets Yuuri set the pace, lets Yuuri be the one to run his warm, calloused hands up and down his naked back as they kiss, passionately. Yuuri isn’t particularly experienced, but his lips are soft and lush, and his tongue laps out tentatively - almost cutely. 

“Mm, Yuuri,” Victor moans, grinding his crotch along Yuuri’s thigh. “Your clothes…” 

“Oh,” Yuuri gasps, hands going up to the neck of his robe, “Oh, yes-”

Victor kisses along Yuuri’s neck, leaving little trails of saliva and red marks where he’s nipped at the skin. 

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs, breathlessly, “Yuuri - will you prepare me?”

“Prepare-?” 

Victor slides Yuuri’s hand down the expanse of his back to grab his ass, fingers just barely dipping between his cheeks.

“Oh.” Yuuri goes a bright, delightful pink. He rummages around in a bedside drawer before, with great embarrassment, pulling out a little vial of oil. 

“Mm, you keep this in your room?” Victor laughs, nuzzling Yuuri’s flushed cheek. “Which way do you want it, tonight?” 

Yuuri’s eyes go wide, strangely innocent. “Whichever… Whichever way you do.” 

Victor dips his lips down to Yuuri’s neck, which he kisses, pressing his mouth against the pulsing, warm vein. In answer, he takes Yuuri’s hand and brings it to his lips, sucking at his fingers lewdly. Wet, slurping sounds fill the air, and Victor pops the fingers out of his mouth to coat them in oil. 

“I’ll turn around,” Victor says, shifting his body so that his back is to Yuuri’s face, his hips straddling Yuuri’s waist. 

With a little, teasing smirk, he pulls his long, silver hair into a tight little knot on the top of his head - his partners seem to love it, floating all down his body as he fucks, but it’s a nightmare to maintain the morning after.

Yuuri dips his saliva and oil-slick fingers between Victor’s cheeks, and the warm weight of his calloused hand presses firmly to push his hips up. He spreads Victor’s cheeks, and Victor lets out a low breath, rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s thigh desperately. 

“Hah,” Victor sighs as Yuuri slips two fingers into him, sliding in with ease, and begins to stroke them back and forth against his hypersensitive walls. He’s loose - two fingers glide in easily, and his entrance still tingles pleasurably with each stroke of Yuuri’s fingers. 

He’s not sore, not anymore - it’s been a few days and lots of stretching and relaxation, and Victor  _ wants _ this with a voracity that startles him.

Yuuri’s hot, wet tongue probes between his cheeks, and Victor yelps in surprise.

“Not good?” Yuuri asks, pressing an apologetic kiss to his right cheek, then the left. 

“No,” Victor assures him, quickly, “Just surprising. Please, ah, please - keep going.” Then, quieter, “You can do whatever you want to me.”

If Yuuri hears the last bit, he doesn’t comment - his tongue swirls tantalizingly around Victor’s pink hole, sending a low, pooling heat directly to his cock. 

“Oh,” Victor moans, nuzzling more insistently against Yuuri’s thigh. 

Yuuri’s cock, hot, hard, and thick, bobs between his legs. Victor thinks of that night, thinks of pulling Yuuri towards him only to be pushed away - because Yuuri was afraid, Victor now knows - and greedily takes the tip of Yuuri’s cock into his mouth. 

“V-Victor,” Yuuri gasps, pausing teasing Victor’s twitching hole to shudder, pleasantly, “Victor, oh-”

“Vitya,” Victor corrects him, licking up the length of Yuuri’s cock, “C-call me, ah, Vitya. Please.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri mumbles against the top of Victor’s thigh. It sounds like music on Yuuri’s tongue, sweet and gentle like a summer breeze. 

Victor swirls his tongue around the tip of Yuuri’s cock, tasting precum, and Yuuri presses his lips wetly to Victor’s hole before resuming the teasing, tantalizing swirl of his tongue around the puckered red rim. 

“Please,” Victor pleads, muffled as he takes Yuuri’s cock deeper into his mouth, the tip pressing insistently against his soft palate. 

Yuuri plunges his tongue inside Victor, and Victor cries out, taking Yuuri even deeper as he jerks forward. He coughs, wetly, frustrated as his gag reflex protests. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps at Yuuri, even as he has to pause for a moment. Yuuri makes a small noise and continues, tongue curling just slightly as he laps it along Victor’s tender walls. “Oh, Yuuri, oh-” then, thinking of how wonderful it felt to have his throat so full with no hesitation or gagging, he asks, teasingly, “Can you call up those tentacles when the demon isn’t around?”

Yuuri smacks his cheek, softly, and Victor yelps - even as his cock thickens and grows between his legs. 

Oh.

Victor whines as Yuuri pulls back to ask, “Vict- uh, Vitya… Did you enjoy that?”

Apparently so.

“Yesss,” Victor moans, grinding down desperately on air, “Yes, do it - please, again-”

Yuuri thrusts his tongue back inside Victor, pushing it in and out with lewd, wet noises, and brings his hand down open-palm against Victor’s left cheek. Victor cries out as the sharp, painful ripple radiates out, taking Yuuri into his mouth and kissing the tip teasingly, kissing it and taking it into his mouth with slow, teasing laps of his tongue. 

“Again,” he gasps one more time, “please, keep going until I come.”

Then, he takes Yuuri’s cock down to the base, eyes rolling back in pleasure as it presses, heavy and hot on his tongue and against the back of his throat. 

Yuuri smacks his ass once more, rubbing soothing circles into the reddening flesh. Victor sobs, desperately, and Yuuri spanks him again. Victor sucks in his cheeks, drooling all over Yuuri’s thighs as he sucks him, sliding his tongue up and down the length as Yuuri’s cock fucks his throat. 

Yuuri’s tongue continues it’s wonderful, wet thrusts, and Yuuri spanks him in time with the motions. He laps a wet stripe between Victor’s cheeks before plunging in again, thrusting in, out - smacking Victor’s right cheek on one thrust, then his left, then his right again, then left until Victor is practically wailing, the sound vibrating against Yuuri’s cock, his flesh  _ burning _ and cherry red and stinging oh so pleasantly. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri gasps, bringing his hand down one more time and  _ squeezing _ , “I’m gonna - I’m,  _ oh _ -”

He squeezes the bright red flesh of Victor’s ass hard, pain and pleasure mingling as he licks up and down Victor’s hole jerkily. His come is heavy and thick, and Victor swallows it down greedily, Yuuri’s cock still pressed wonderfully against the back of his throat. Yuuri comes, and comes, but only seems to soften slightly-

Victor gasps and pulls off, one last little splatter painting his lips. He’s hard, now, so painfully hard, and his thighs tremble as he rests his head once more against Yuuri’s knee - still bruised, though barely. 

Yuuri grabs his cock and he cries out, tears beading up in his eyes as Yuuri’s fingers clamp cruelly around the base.

“Do you want to cum?” Yuuri breathes.

“How can you ask me that so casually?” Victor says, a mixture of a sob and a laugh. 

“How do you want me to make you… make you cum?” Yuuri murmurs, kissing the handprint marks on Victor’s ass, right then left, just like he’d left them with open-handed smacks. 

“Mm, can you go another round?” Victor smirks, smile pressing into Yuuri’s thigh. He ghosts the tips of his fingers against Yuuri’s cock, still half-hard even after coming once. “I still want to ride you.”

Yuuri’s gulp is audible. “Yes,” he squeaks, hardening at Victor’s slow, teasing touches, “I think so.” 

Victor turns again, kissing Yuuri with abandon. The oil he’d used to prepare him has some hint of flavor to it - subtle, musky, and he tastes it on Yuuri’s tongue. Yuuri’s hands wrap around him, warm comfort, up and down the smooth, pale expanse of his naked back and ass. Victor moans, grinding down desperately on Yuuri’s thigh. 

“You’re so red,” Yuuri murmurs, “Here,” he strokes along Victor’s cheekbones, “and here.” He pinches Victor’s ass, and Victor yelps, surprised. 

“Yuu _ ri _ ,” Victor whines.

Yuuri’s expression is sinfully shy, moreso than it has the right to be, Victor thinks. His lips are lovely, pouted delicately, and he can’t quite seem to look Victor in the eye. Instead, his gaze rakes along Victor’s body, eyes and lips curved into a small, almost intimately private smile, something just between the two of them. 

Well, if Yuuri is going to tease him-

Victor spreads himself wide, grips Yuuri’s cock, and sinks down onto it. 

Yuuri cries out, loud and plaintive and so hot Victor nearly comes just from the sound and the sight of his face. 

“V-Vitya,” he gasps, flushing, and Victor kisses him again as he slides the length up, until the tip is pressed against his clenching hole-

He leaves it there, just a moment, wriggling his hips and rubbing the length of Yuuri’s cock between his cheeks. 

“Please,” Yuuri begs, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. Victor kisses them away, tastes the salt and sweat, and sinks down fully on Yuuri’s cock again. 

It’s  _ wonderful _ , Yuuri’s length both thick and long. The tip of Yuuri’s cock, deep inside of him, rubs against his prostate with every jerk and motion of Victor’s hips. 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor whispers, wrapping his arms around Yuuri with delight. 

Yuuri laughs a little and jerks his hips up, rubbing Victor’s shoulders as Victor cries out and begins riding him at a desperate, punishing pace. Yuuri’s cock rubs wonderfully against his still tender walls, slick with oil and spit and still tingling - from the tentacles, nearly four nights ago, now. He feels so good, Yuuri’s cock causing little dribbles of precum with every thrust as it presses against his prostate.

“Vitya,” Yuuri moans, “V-Vitya, you asked me if, if I could call on the tentacles…”

Victor’s eyes widen and he nods, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, cheeks still split wide on Yuuri’s cock. Then, right before him, two tentacles grow from behind Yuuri, coming up behind his head like weeds. Yuuri’s expression is complicated, unsure and insecure, but Victor’s pupils blow out wide and saliva pools in his mouth. 

He grabs one tentacle and stuffs it into his mouth, sucking greedily against the little suction cups. It’s sweet, though not oozing syrup like it had two nights ago.

Yuuri moans as Victor’s tongue curls around the tentacle, and Victor pops it out to ask, “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” Yuuri breathes, nodding almost sheepishly.

Victor smirks and laps along the tentacle’s length, like he had Yuuri’s cock, taking it deep into his mouth. He grabs the other one and brings it up to his chest, rubbing the suction cups along his pink and pebbled nipples as he fucks himself on Yuuri’s cock. 

After rubbing the tentacle across his chest a few times, Yuuri swallows and takes up the pace himself, pressing the tip of the tentacle to one erect nipple and swirling the little bud around, flicking it up and down. Victor lets out little gasps and mewls in time with the little flicks, grabbing his other nipple and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Yuuri pushes his hand away from it and, without warning, pulls Victor’s chest to him and takes the bud between his teeth, tongue flicking out to lap at it. Victor cries out, a particularly rough thrust making stars shine behind his eyes and his cock spurt out precum, and he grabs onto Yuuri’s chest to roll  _ his  _ nipples between his fingers. 

The tentacle begins thrusting into his mouth, the tentacle on his chest teasing his nipple mercilessly while Yuuri’s lips and tongue lap circles around his pink, swollen areola. Victor tries to maintain the motion of his fingers, clenches his ass tighter around Yuuri’s cock as he thrusts his hips up and down, and  _ wails _ when Yuuri moans, low and vibrating, right into his chest. 

“Yuuri,” Victor cries around the tentacle, “Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri-” 

Yuuri makes a muffled noise, lapping up and against his sensitive nipple again and again and again, and Victor swears he can sense it’s his name. 

Low, burning heat pools in his belly, and Victor’s cries sharpen and heighten in pitch. He grabs the tentacle in his mouth with both hands, thrusting it back into his throat even deeper, and clenches his cheeks together so that Yuuri is hitting his prostate with every thrust. 

Yuuri’s hands clench around his cock and Victor  _ comes _ , he comes with the tentacle thrusting in his throat and Yuuri’s cock fucking him and Yuuri’s hands on his cock and Yuuri’s mouth tugging torturously at his nipples-

Yuuri keeps going, still hard and thick inside him, even as Victor paints his hands with thick strings of come, and suddenly Victor’s world  _ shifts _ . Yuuri is on top of him, Victor’s legs are spread wide, and Yuuri’s lips suckle wetly at the crook of his neck. Yuuri thrusts in  _ deep _ , still stroking his hypersensitive prostate, the tentacle still fucking the back of his throat with abandon and Victor  _ writhes _ with how wrecked he feels-

He’s a doll, someone for Yuuri to fuck again and again even when he’s wrung out and sobbing with the stimulation, and he  _ loves it _ . He never knew - he hadn’t known he could feel like this, little dribbles of come still leaking out of him with each press against his hypersensitive walls and prostate. 

Yuuri’s eyes screw shut, his nails digging red little crescents into his thighs as his thrusts take on a brutal, punishing pace, and Victor watches dazedly as Yuuri comes, lips sucking wetly against his neck, pumping him full of hot, thick come. Yuuri bites his lip as he rides out his orgasm, round face flushed bright red and sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. 

This time, the tentacle doesn’t seem to come, but it does pull out of Victor with a wet  _ pop _ , leaving his throat hollow and empty. 

“Noooo,” Victor whines as Yuuri pulls his cock out, as well, come spilling out and onto the bed. “Yuu _ ri _ -”

“I can’t stay inside you forever,” Yuuri laughs, with a little more surety, a little less nervousness. He’s lovely when he’s confident and caring and in control, Victor thinks. 

Victor lets out a frustrated noise, though, and brings the tentacle down between his legs, pressing insistently at his entrance. Yuuri’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything - the tentacle wriggles between Victor’s legs, inside his swollen and gaping entrance, pushing out come as it thrusts deeper. 

“Oh,” Yuuri stammers, “I guess I can.”

Victor sighs, contentedly, letting his legs spread wide and patting his stomach, the tentacle plugging him and making him feel so pleasantly full. He turns his head to the side, both to expose the dotted, bruised line of his neck and because his bun is digging painfully into the back of his head.

“We’ve made a mess of my bed,” Yuuri says, still leaning over him. “I can’t sleep with it like this.”

Victor brings him down into a low, languid kiss, sucking on his tongue lightly before letting it lap against the inside of his mouth. The motion makes the tentacle inside of him squirm, and he whimpers, hands flying up to his sensitive chest. 

“We don’t have to sleep,” he whispers. 

Yuuri pokes him on the nose, pointedly. “Yes, we do. Mama needs us to help with the chores tomorrow. But,” his lips curve into a sweet little smile, “The baths are lovely and empty, this late at night.”

Victor ponders, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “A bath might be very nice.”

Yuuri laughs. “But, I have to take the tentacle out of you first.” 

“Aw no, Yuu _ ri _ -”

* * *

 

Victor relaxes into the bath, running his thumb along Yuuri’s cheek. 

“I’ve felt like a freak for so long,” Yuuri sighs, melancholy, resting his head on Victor’s shoulder. “I don’t know if it’s strange how much you like them, but - I’m glad you’re not. You’re not, you know, terrified of me.”

Victor frowns, lips against Yuuri’s forehead, and says into the night, “Who on earth could be scared of you?” 

Yuuri laughs, a touch of bitterness there, though for the first time he doesn’t pull away, “We’ll see if you say that,” he sighs, “When the next red moon comes.”

Victor doesn’t respond, but he does kiss Yuuri’s forehead, softly. Yuuri is kind, and sweet, and caring - and he doesn’t deserve to have an awful demon attached to him, taking over Yuuri’s body without his consent. 

“Yuuri,” Victor murmurs, “The last sacrifice who lived… What happened?”

Yuuri frowns. “I think you might know that better than I do. Our records… There was a fire, right after I was born.”

“Ah,” Victor taps his chin, “Hm. All I know - he came back to the town and instead of welcoming him back… Couldn’t have him telling the truth, I suppose. There must be more, every story in my village is recorded and archived deep underground, but I can’t… I can’t go back, either. Can you go?”

Yuuri sighs. “The Elders know who I am, who my family is. They’d never let me.” Then, softer, “I guess it’s hopeless.”

Victor pulls Yuuri to him, and is immeasurably grateful when Yuuri relaxes into his embrace. Yuuri’s lips press against the crook of Victor’s neck, and he nuzzles against him, warm and wonderful. Victor’s hands splay out over Yuuri’s shoulder blades, the muscles beneath them firm and rippling. 

In the baths, it’s easy to let their troubles melt away. There’s nothing but smooth, sensual skin, Yuuri’s legs pressed against his under the water, his lips mouthing gently against Victor’s neck. Especially when he’s stretched and sated and pleasantly sore.

How long will it be before the demon returns? Months? Years? Will Yuuri be in its shadow the entire time, wondering when it’ll appear and ruin the delicate balance they’re beginning to create?

“Yuuri,” Victor says determinedly, grasping his hands and looking deep into his eyes, “I’m going to find out how to break the curse.”

Yuuri’s eyes go wide, his lips parted in shock. Then, with a wet laugh, he flings his arms around Victor.

“Well,” he sighs, and Victor can feel his sweet smile against his chest, “I won’t stop you from trying.”

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [tumblr](https://revampired.tumblr.com)


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